


Broken Rules

by C_AND_B



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff and Angst, No Strings Attached
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5806645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_AND_B/pseuds/C_AND_B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin’s rules for ‘No Strings Attached Sex’:</p>
<p>1.	Booty calls may come at any hour, from both parties, but do not have to be obliged. No questions should be asked.<br/>2.	No sleeping over<br/>3.	No overtly intimate touches (i.e. gentle caresses that don’t lead to something further, or nose ‘boops’ or that cute forehead resting shit they do in movies)<br/>4.	No questioning sex with other people<br/>5.	No emotions</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Clarke Griffin’s rules for ‘No Strings Attached Sex’:_

_1\. Booty calls may come at any hour, from both parties, but do not have to be obliged. No questions should be asked._

_2\. No sleeping over_

_3\. No overtly intimate touches (i.e. gentle caresses that don’t lead to something further, or nose ‘boops’ or that cute forehead resting shit they do in movies)_

_4\. No questioning sex with other people_

_5\. No emotions_

* * *

 

The list was composed the morning after that first night. The morning in which you woke up next to said scribbled list instead of next to the hot blonde from your Psych class. Clarke Griffin. You already knew her name of course, you’d made note of it at the beginning of the semester when she stumbled in late and took the seat beside you in a hurry. You hate tardiness, but you love the hurried smile she threw your way when you showed her your first few scribbles of ideas.

The two of you never speak in class. Inexplicably, and stupidly, you develop a ridiculous infatuation with her. Then you fell into bed with her one night after a study session that mostly just consisted of the two of you doing shots when you got a question wrong – a vicious cycle really.

You weren’t drunk enough to forget it, however. You remember it vividly. It takes a singular blink for you to remember the way she writhed beneath you, how her breath caught in her throat when she finally let go, how she whispered your name - reverently and secretively - like she would utter her sins in confession. It was slowly driving you insane, hence why you quickly agreed to Clarke's rules. Although, you will maintain that there was never a verbal agreement. It was incredibly unspoken as you marched to her room and took her against the wall before walking straight out without another word.

Sex you were good at.

Not having emotions for Clarke you apparently were not.

In your defence the two of you kept finding yourselves in incredibly compromising positions (not the ones you were supposed to be in though – emotionally compromising positions). It all started when you lost your contacts and then sat on, and snapped, your glasses like a complete and total idiot, thus leaving you slightly blind for the remainder of the week until the new ones got delivered. You were somehow surviving it and everything was fine until the final day when she marched into your room with, you assumed from her tone, some kind of smirk. You were squinting at her from across the room in an attempt to make something more of the colourful splodge that was Clarke Griffin. It wasn’t working.

“You can’t see me can you?” You scoff, but find yourself shaking your head nonetheless and revelling in the laugh that follows. You watch the blur move a few steps before stopping.

“What about now?” Head shake. Three steps.

“Now?” Head shake. She steps into your space. You can feel her body pressing against yours, the warmth of her spills into you like sunshine through the clouds and you almost squeak pathetically as she tugs your hips the final inch. You don’t squeak. You’re Lexa Woods. They call you the Commander behind your back. You’re supposed to be stoic and strong and yet somehow one pretty girl is making you fall apart. Although, you’re blaming the fact that you can feel her breath dance across your lips, and that all you can smell is the strawberry chapstick she applies when she’s nervous. You’re blaming the fact that you’re so wrapped up in Clarke you ignore the voice that screams you've been in far more intimate positions than this because this feels different.

This feels charged.

You shake your head once. “I can feel you.” Her breath catches so fast, it feels like she steals your breath away in the same moment. Then she stumbles out of your room and you know that she has. You spend the remainder of the day berating yourself for being an idiot and refreshing the delivery tracker, hoping to see the green blur move towards what you assume is a picture of a house.

* * *

 

She finds you in the shower. That is to say that she tries to ambush you in the shower. You don’t flinch. You don’t move. You’re not even sure you breathe. You can’t recall a time you did any of those things. All you can remember is the water slapping against your skin until your body went numb. She yelps as she steps under the spray with you but you make no sound. You simply stare at the wall like it will somehow make this all go away.

“What the fuck, Lex? The water is ice cold.” Usually you’d smile at the nickname, make some cocky retort about warming her up before kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. But you can’t breathe. You’re not sure you want to breathe. It’s not until she timidly turns your body to face her that she realises you’re crying. You don’t remember when it started. You don’t remember when you got in here. All you know is the date. Today’s date and what it signifies. All you know is Clarke’s thumb pointlessly wiping away tears. Today means nothing to her. She doesn’t know why you’re here. She pulls you into her arms regardless and says nothing about the shiver in her bones as she hums under her breath. She never asks but her thinking is loud enough that you open your mouth to answer the unmentioned.

"I was hoping it would numb the pain. I just wanted it to go away. Why won't it go away?" It’s broken and cryptic and you explain nothing of the darkness that looms over you as you recall the way your mom used to smile with laughter in her eyes and dance with thunder in her footsteps. She pulls you closer like she knows exactly why you’re crying, like she’s well acquainted with the pain under your façade.

You ignore her for three days after. You tell yourself it’s because you broke the rules. You were weak and you broke the rules. You know that the real reason is because you never recall the feel of her bare skin against your own, only the warmth of her body and the soft hand that rubbed your back to the gentle beat of her heart.

* * *

 

It was supposed to be sex. You’d both had stressful exams and it was supposed to be a way to unwind. It was supposed to be sex. When she opened the door wrapped in a blanket and proceeded to drag you to the couch, mumbling how she just had to finish this episode you couldn't help but think she was adorable. You spend five minutes blatantly staring at her because she was driving you insane. Then you get completely sucked into _RuPaul’s Drag Race_ and there’s no way the two of you are stopping until you finish the season because you've always been a fan of action movies but this was all out war.

At some point, you find yourself in Clarke’s blanket. An episode later she’s tucked safely in the warmth of your arms. By the last episode you feel her nose caress the hollow of your throat but she does nothing but sigh contently and rest her head gently on your shoulder as she continues to watch the show. She’s breaking rule number three massively but you don’t question it – you think that was for the best when you wake up still firmly planted on her couch with her in your arms. You broke rule number two and you’re sure you've gotten away with it as you make your way back to your own room before you find posters plastered all over the walls around campus with a picture of the two of you cuddling with the caption _Clexa or Princess Commander? You decide. Message Raven Reyes or Octavia Blake to place your vote._

You’re going to kill the two of them.

Just maybe after they tell you how in the hell they managed to achieve this in a three hour period.

Thankfully Clarke says nothing about it. The two of you don’t really say anything at all when she busts through your door the next night and makes you wish you had soundproofed your walls in order to avoid the knowing looks the day after.

* * *

 

You sleep with someone else because you’re supposed to right? You’re supposed to be distant. You’re not supposed to feel the lingering warmth of her body or scorch marks on your skin where she touched you.

It sucks (for you at least).

The girl leaves looking satisfied but torn when you pointedly ignore all her questions about seeing each other again or if she can have your number. You walk her to the door because, contrary to popular belief, you’re not heartless and she seems to have attached an idea to you that you know you won’t live up to but will maintain for a moment longer. She kisses you at the door before she skips down the hallway - the very same hallway that Clarke stands in, staring at you with unreadable eyes and a wobbly smile.

“Who was that?” There are two ways you could go about this. Who are you kidding, there is one way. You literally have no way out of this but the truth. Except it shouldn't matter because she made the rules, specifically the one where other relations were allowed and were not to be discussed or questioned. She made the rules. She did.

“I don’t know.” You admit and curiously watch her stumble on her next step as she makes her way closer to you.

“How do you not-“

“You’re breaking rule number four.”

“So you slept with her? You’re sleeping with other people?” For a second she looks angry, she looks like she wants to scream but it’s gone by the time you blink and you begin to wonder if you just made it up because you want her to care. You want her to want you. She does nothing but kiss you roughly until you’re tumbling back into your bed and forgetting how it all began in the first place.

You wake up alone and remember why you found someone else, why you needed to feel someone else’s hands upon your skin. You remember the pain that comes when you wish you were a puppet, when you wish Clarke Griffin wanted to hold all of your strings and give you rein of hers.

* * *

 

She avoids you for a week. You know you’re not just imagining it when she sits away from you in Psych and walks the other way when you wait outside and try to talk to her. You give up trying on the fourth day because you’re not even sure what you would say, you’re not even sure why you feel like you should be apologising for something that’s supposed to mean nothing to her. They were her rules. She made the rules.

You miss her.

She sits back next to you on the eighth day with a small smile and you feel yourself return in kind as you slide your notes her way. She’s grinning then and copying them word for word as you watch the way her tongue pokes out of her mouth when she concentrates and the wiggle of her fingers when she gets bored of writing but powers through. You spend the next hour watching Clarke Griffin and it’s one of the best hours of your life. She doesn't say anything as she leads you to a coffee shop down the street and places your coffee order along with hers like this is a regular thing. You don’t say anything either until you’re sitting at a table and the silence feels too loud.

“It didn't mean anything.” You’re not sure why you’re explaining yourself. “I thought you wanted me to-“

“It’s fine.” She replies as she drops her hand to yours on the table. As a child you always followed rules, you thought that they were always right, that even if you had the feeling they weren’t it would be easier to follow along than waste time apologising for mistakes. As you turn your hand over and intertwine your fingers with hers, you decide that some rules are meant to be broken and you would gladly spend every minute of your life apologising if it meant you got to hold Clarke’s hand.

* * *

 

You don’t talk about the momentary lapse in judgement - the feelings moment. You go back to the rules. It’s just sex. You don’t talk. You’re beginning to think the only words you know are Clarke’s name and stifled moans.

You’re not all that surprised when you hear a quiet knock at your door around midnight. You are surprised however, when it goes from a knock to a bang as someone slams on your door with what you would imagine is everything they have in them. You open it abruptly and Clarke tumbles through like she had been planning to throw her whole body into knocking your door down. She looks adorable.

“Have you been drinking?” You ask in a feeble attempt to work out why she’s acting so weird, why she seems so desperate to be here but so scared that she actually came.

“No.” She rushes out and then she’s rushing towards you and you await the hurried kisses and precise hands but they never come. All she does is rest her forehead against yours and stare into your eyes. You know what this means. You _think_ you know what this means.

"You're breaking the rules, Griffin." Her laugh is soft, a mere expulsion of breath as her gaze trembles against yours and she clutches at your shirt like it will somehow root her to this moment, to you.

"I broke the rules the moment I wrote them."

"How so?"

"I've been in love with you since you let me copy your notes." She confesses and you suddenly don’t mind that it’s the middle of the night and her banging is going to mean a whole load of complaints in the morning from your asshole neighbour.

"Good."

"Good?" She asks and you 'boop' her nose in reply until you’re laughing into each other’s mouths and finally allowing yourself to stare unabashedly at her.

"You had me at ' _fuck me I'm late_.'"


	2. Clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same story, Clarke's mind.

You’re late. You are crazy late and whilst that wasn’t exactly something new in your life (perpetual lateness was the very thing your mother was always getting on your case about), this was your first day of Psych class and you didn’t want to make too awful of an impression. That plan was probably thrown completely out of the window when you all but tumbled into the room and fumbled your way into a seat.

You should have slipped in and sat at the back but you didn’t. You’re not completely sure what possessed you to make your way to the front row and sit next to a girl you didn’t even know, despite the various empty seats. Except, you did know. You know that you sat there because you’d caught sight of an incredibly hot brunette scowling at the front – a scowl that dissipates the moment you take your place beside her and offer her a soft smile.

By the time she smiles back and pushes her notes across the desk to you, you could taste your heart in your mouth; you could feel every breath she took at your side. You knew you were going to tumble head first into this infatuation the exact same way you fell into that room, because no one that pretty and that stoic wasn’t not going to nestle their way into your heart when they smiled like you were the only one in the room, and doodled on their notes despite the precision they were written with.

You know you’re too far gone when you fall into bed with her after too many shots and too many daring touches. She makes you feel alive. She makes you feel a whole load of things that you’re not sure you've ever really felt.

And she’s good.

God, she’s good.

You wake up thinking about breakfast - waffles to be exact. Your next waking thought is that she’s beautiful, that her tattoos seem more intricate under the spill of sunlight through the window, that her smile seems more tender when she’s not putting thought into it. Then you remember where you are, who this is, what just happened. You maybe panic completely. You maybe write a list of rules for no feelings sex.

You’re an idiot.

All you can think about is the way she trembled against your hands, the sound of your name rolling from her tongue, the catch in her breath, the catch in breath, the catch in her breath...

 You’re an idiot.

* * *

 

 She can’t see you. You are ninety-nine percent sure that she cannot see you. She wears glasses sometimes, mostly in the comfort of her own room like it’s some big secret. It’s adorable. The fact that you know it about her makes you feel closer to her.

You spend the whole week testing your hypothesis. You wave at her from across the quad, offer her sweets you know she doesn’t like and revel in watching her put them in her mouth with a grimace that she hides under a smile. You know it’s a sure thing when you gaze down at her usually precise notes and find they lack their certain level of finesse.

“You can’t see me can you?” You say the moment you step through her door. She tries to play it off but you watch her shake her head numbly alongside your laugh. You take four timid steps forward. You watch her topple back slightly before she decides to stand her ground.

“What about now?” She shakes her head. You brave the last few steps.

“Now?” It’s the final shake of her head that has you stepping into her space, pulling her body against yours until every exhale is her inhale, until you’re not sure whose heart you can feel pounding in your bones. You’re not sure who you think you’re kidding with this whole thing. You’re breaking every rule you made by not kissing her in that moment, but as she responds “I can _feel_ you” you don’t think you have enough breath left in your body to push yourself to close the gap.

You stumble out of her room, tripping over every thought of her that clouds your mind. You don’t gain your footing until you’re safely back in your own dorm blasting music through speakers and thrusting paint on a canvas until it resembles her.

It always resembles her.

You’re both thankful and disappointed when you wave at her from across the quad and she waves back.

* * *

 

You jump into her shower. Mostly because you thought it’d be hot (and maybe also because you've watched _Pitch Perfect_ so many times in the past few days with Raven that it’s basically all you can think about).

It’s freezing. Honestly freezing and you jump back from the spray in a second with a squeal. You don’t pay attention to her lack of reaction at first; you’re too busy freaking out about the shivers running through your body.

“What the fuck, Lex? The water is ice cold.” You never call her Lex. You called her Alexandria once before her begging you to stop led to you begging her to keep going and you forgot your own name, let alone the name she hated. You wait a second for some kind of sexual quip because for someone who seemed too shy to ever talk to you in class, she was exceedingly good at dirty talk when the two of you were alone.

When it doesn't come you find yourself spinning her to face you. You find yourself softly wiping tears and wondering why you’re even bothering as another one drops in its wake, but you know the answer. You know you keep going because she leans into your touch with each new stroke, because the stillness of her body tells you exactly how long she’s been in here – long enough to forget what being cold is like, long enough that she’s stopped feeling anything at all.

You ignore all the questions bouncing around your head because Lexa doesn’t talk. She doesn’t share. It took all of three seconds for you to work that out but you know she needs you. You know you can’t leave her to face this alone, even if you break your own rules doing it.

Rules are stupid anyway.

_“_ I was hoping it would numb the pain. I just wanted it to go away. Why won't it go away?" You pull her into you because you can’t answer the question. No matter how hard you try, you can’t answer that question, you've asked it enough times yourself to know that. You don’t know why she’s crying but that means nothing to you as you pull her impossibly close and press a kiss to her forehead.

You don’t know how long the two of you stand there. You do know that she ignores you for three days afterwards. You know that you spend every day thinking about the vulnerability in her eyes and the rapid beat of her heart that steadily slowed to harmonise with your own.

* * *

 

You text her to come over. You know she had a particularly gruelling test in the morning because you pay more attention than you’re supposed to. You expect her to take longer, you blame her for you being wrapped in a blanket and watching _Rupaul_.

“I just need to finish this episode.” You mumble and watch her vaguely nod in reply as she toes off her shoes and quietly follows you to your resting place on the sofa. You don’t mention the weight of her gaze, or the burning desire inside of you to just turn and catch it. You don’t say a word as you lift your blanket to cover her shoulders and click onto the next episode. You’re pushing your luck when you tuck yourself into her side, but you feel her hum low in her throat as you drag your nose gently across her skin. She says nothing when you rest your head upon her shoulder and settle in - if anything her grip at your side tightens.

You wake up with empty arms but tucked softly into a warm blanket.

You wake up to the sound of Octavia and Raven laughing (thankfully not the midnight hurried kisses kind) and their faces watching you with prominent smirks and devious eyes.

“What the hell did you two do?” You ask because you have literally no faith in them after the last prank they decided to pull on you. To this day you still can’t figure out how they managed to get it all done so fast. As they push you outside and you see the posters lining the walls you resign yourself to forever wondering how they do these things and why they loved torturing you so much.

“Remind me why I told you guys about the spare key?” All you get in reply is maniacal laughter and it haunts you all day until you’re rushing to Lexa’s room and kissing her with everything you have. You don’t want her to forget the feel of your hands against her skin. You don’t want her to forget the burn in her throat from screaming your name. You don’t want her to think this is more trouble than it’s worth.

You want her to want you.

* * *

 

She’s kissing someone else and you want to be sick.

You wish you could rip your heart out of your chest as you watch the girl skip by you like she’s experienced a miracle. You know that feeling. You want to be sick. The two of you stare for a second as you try, in vain, to remind yourself that this was your decision, these were your rules. You did this to yourself.

“Who was that?” You ask because you’re apparently a masochist and you need her to say it out loud. You need to be sure. She falters for a moment like she’s deciding on the right words.

“I don’t know.” She admits and you carelessly fumble your steps as you cross the hall to stand before her. You can see the marks on her skin. You know you didn’t make them. You can feel yourself crumbling every time you blink and the image won’t erase. Lexa’s hands on her body. Lexa’s lips on her body. Lexa. Lexa. Lexa.

“How do you not-“

“You’re breaking rule number four.”

“So you slept with her? You’re sleeping with other people?” All you feel is rage. It’s a strange feeling coiling in your stomach but you push it down. You push everything down and kiss her. It’s messy and it’s rough and you push her onto her bed without care. You mark her. You paint over the strokes made by the nameless face and kiss her in the hopes she’ll forget everything but you.

* * *

You ignore her for a week. Seven days without Lexa. You sit at the back in Psych and walk out of your way just to avoid whatever explanation you think she may offer. You’re being petty. She stops her efforts on day four and you feel your resolve waning because you miss her. You miss her silent presence beside you in class and the mumbled insults she throws towards seemingly everyone but you.

You miss her.

You take your place back beside her on the eighth day because she did nothing wrong. You made the rules. Your heart soars when she smiles and slides her notes towards you, hers were always ten times better than your own. You stare ahead pointedly for an hour although you hear nothing but the quiet huff of her breath as you feel her watching you. You wonder how her gaze would rest if she was yours and you were hers. You wonder if you could even handle it.

You silently lead her to your favourite coffee shop down the street when you finally escape. She doesn’t question it when you blurt out her coffee order alongside your own; ignoring the voice in your head that says you shouldn't know it off by heart. She smiles. Your heart skips. You smile back. You have no idea what to say by the time you reach the table, you have no idea how to apologise for overreacting and ignoring her when a part of you is glad that you did.

“It didn’t mean anything. I thought you wanted me to-“

“It’s fine.” You cut in because she isn't to blame. Not really. She was the reason your heart was going crazy, but you were the reason you hadn’t done anything about it. You drop your hand to hers with practised ease but you could never have prepared yourself for the way she would flip her own and clasp your fingers together in a silent apology, a bridge to something more.

* * *

 

You've been physically pacing for an hour. You've been mentally pacing for the past week since Lexa held your hand and you chickened out and turned this whole situation back into some kind of emotionally devoid sex frenzy.

You’re an idiot.

“You’re an idiot.” At least you were apparently right about one thing.

“Yes, Raven, I know. But she’s just so...” You make some unintelligible sound in place of actual words because you can’t describe it - the feeling. You can’t describe her. You’re going insane with each new step you take because you don’t know what to do.

“Alright, that’s it.” This time it’s Octavia’s voice as she thrusts a jacket into your arms and pushes you out the door - _your_ door, the door to _your_ room. Why the hell did you keep letting them in when you knew all they ever do is break shit and pull pranks. You knock despite knowing they’re not going to let you back in and that your spare key was inside with them since they let themselves in earlier. God, they’re annoying. “No, Clarke. Go talk to Lexa and then you can come back in.”

“Hopefully you don’t come back!” You hear Raven shout as you storm off towards Lexa’s halls. You could do this. You’re Clarke Griffin and you could totally do this. You’d done worse.

You knock politely first. It’s timid and soft. You feel your body readying itself to run. You’re heart is in your mouth and your palms are sweaty and fuck politeness. You begin a constant bang on her door and you know her neighbours will hate the two of you but you can’t keep doing this, you can’t give yourself a chance to run away any more. You’re all but about to throw yourself into the door when it flings open and you fall through.

“Have you been drinking?” She asks with an equally confused and tired smile. She looks at you cautiously like she’s trying to figure you out. You take a breath as you try to figure yourself out, as you try to work out how you’re going to explain this, how you’ll actually get the words out.

“No.” You blurt and then it hits you. Your bodies collide in an instant and she catches your waist with effortless finesse as she closes her eyes and waits. You know what she expects. You know what you’re supposed to do. Instead you tilt your head forward until your forehead rests against hers and her eyes fly open.

"You're breaking the rules, Griffin." She jokes breathily and your returning laugh is nothing more than a single chuckle as you clutch at her shirt with desperate hands, still slightly afraid you’ll find some way to hide from this.

"I broke the rules the moment I wrote them." This is it. No turning back.                            

"How so?"

"I've been in love with you since you let me copy your notes."

"Good."

"Good?" You ask and her nose runs along yours in reply until you can’t help but laugh.

The two of you are complete idiots.

"You had me at _'fuck me I'm late._ '"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda on a Clexa high at the moment so if anyone has something they think I could write or just someone new to freak out with you can find me at irrevocablyobsessive.tumblr.com


End file.
